A poem in honor of the Bicentenary of the Birth of the Bab, by Gerardo Almada, translated from Spanish
The tar is heard.
The human heart tempers the blood of its strings,
The spirit claims its share of the sea of knowledge.
He is the Door, the knocker is his word.
Six and twenty seven in the afternoon
and a sweet message like a date,
the lamp lit from his eyes
and ours still without fire.
The night was like an empty body
of spirit and life
and the greatest desire was to find him.
The wind brings and carries with it a romance,
In this fire the lovers are on fire
Torn the veil, the poet enters her court
the mystic lacks arguments
and a dervish delights in complex melodies,
It is imminent to leave the heart without a key.
This road is full of sorrows in the world
don’t touch the shiny metal
rather about your heart urged
to this bank of spiritual joys.
The mountain houses its perfume
His body tired his delicate hands.
It was his banishment as flowers for the soul
the cup of martyrdom … who drinks it with me?
He is the Door, the knocker is his word.
Six and twenty seven in the afternoon
and a sweet message like a date.
